Harry Potter and the Novel Years
by ego.clamavi.in.nocte
Summary: A young mind is a wonderful thing. Unknowing of the dangers of the world. However, that is not the case for young Harry Potter. The boy who would sit in front of the typewriter for hours, his fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. Stories of fear and darkness that creeps into the mind, sending men into insanity. Harry Potter didn't have an innocent mind.
1. Prologue

A young mind is a wonderful thing. Still filled with imagination. Full of laughter and songs that take place in wonderfully colorful fields of flowers. Unknowing of the dangers of the world. However, that is not the case for young Harry Potter. The boy who would sit in front of the typewriter for hours, his fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. Telling stories of adventure and loss. Of dreams and many wonderful beings. Stories of fear and darkness that creeps into the mind, sending men into insanity. Harry Potter didn't have an innocent mind.

Harry was seven when he found the typewriter. It had been sitting in the Dursley's attic for many years, its keys collecting dust. He had tripped over one of Dudley's old video games and fallen just before it. Harry had examined it, wondering why the Dursleys had stuck it up in the attic. He pulled it out and pressed a few keys. Harry couldn't stop. He sat in the attic for hours, creating a world where secrets were around every corner. When men could be more than just that. Where dangers paved every path.

Harry wrote what he saw. Different versions of his own reality. His writing was his way to escape his own life. His neighbor Mrs. Figg? In his stories she was the old woman who would always give travelers a place to stay. She had lived a life of hardship and wanted none other to feel how she had. His maths teacher was the hunter. He was swift in his thinking. Always up for a challenge. However, he was easily angered. Dudley Dursley was the Mayor's son. He received what he wanted when he asked. There was no alternative as he knew none else, no better. He was raised spoiled. And Mr. and Mrs. Dursley? They were Kings and Queens. They had the public twisted around their fingers, no one dared oppose their opinions for fear of rejection. They opposed anything out of the ordinary and went to extreme lengths to get what they wanted.

Harry saw no black and white. He saw the many shades of gray that twisted and turned reality. He could see no evil nor good. The line between the two was well beyond blurred for Harry. Perhaps that's what lead to the experiments. What led the sweet charming lad down what many would call the

wrong road. What caused him to walk right where that line used to be.


	2. Chapter 1

T

Thank you so much for reading this story! Please give feedback and don't be afraid to share your opinions! In the end it always comes back to the readers! I hope you enjoy!

A soft clicking could be heard coming from under the stairs in 4 Privet Drive. It kept a quick pace and was accompanied by small chimes at various intervals. Murmurs could be heard if one with an acute sense of hearing were to listen closely. Together the sounds were almost melodic, or at least, enough to make you turn your ear towards the pleasant and hypnotizing ensemble.

Eventually, a small door under the stairs opened and a small boy emerged. A sharp green eye scanned his surroundings searching for something. He emitted a sigh of relief when he didn't find what he had been looking for. Though, In his eyes you could see that he was still worried. He crept into the kitchen, illuminated only by the light slinking out of the door from which he had just emerged.

He reached towards the fridge, but flinched back at the last second as a snore shook the house. His eyes darted back to the area (cupboard) under the stairs, as though he was considering his options. He stood their silently, slightly curled in upon himself. He looked like he was trying not to be noticed. When a couple of minutes past and not another sound was heard from the area upstairs, he once more reached for the fridge.

This time he succeeded in opening the fridge door. He grabbed the leftovers from last night's dinner with a hungry look in his eyes. Normally a small portion of the leftovers was given to him, but that day he had gone without supper because of an earlier incident at the Zoo. A Boa Constrictor had been set free when the glass had disappeared as though by magic. The boy's cousin, Dudley Dursley, claimed he had been attacked by the snake. (Harry had seen it playfully nip at his ankles)

That wasn't even the weirdest part. Before the glass disappeared, the boy swore he could hear and understand the snake. He had asked a question, not expecting the snake to actually respond. The boy thought he was insane. There was no way he was actually talking to the snake. Yet, he swore he could hear it telling him how he wanted to go to brazil. He didn't dare tell his Uncle that, no, he didn't have a death wish.

Dudley's mother, Petunia, had consoled Dudley until he stopped crying and rather, decided to point his finger at the boy, yelling "He did it! Harry did it! The freak did it! I saw him talking to it." Vernon Dursley, Dudley's father, decided to grab the back of the boy (now identified as Harry) by the back of his shirt and drag him to the car. Once in the car Vernon yelled at Harry like there was no tomorrow.

Harry was scared of what the consequences of taking the food would be. By now, Harry was starving, he was willing to risk it. He was already malnourished and needed to get some form of nutrients. It was Sunday and Dudley's birthday. Dinner had always been a big deal on Dudley's birthday. There had been a feast the previous night and Harry was dying to get a piece of it. While reaching towards the higher shelf to get a plate of fruit, Harry accidentally dropped the food. The plastic container it was in did not break, but did make a loud noise.

Harry quickly grabbed the container, but froze when he heard grunts and footsteps coming from the upstairs area. His eyes darted up and towards the cupboard. Harry crept back towards the stairs, attempting to be as quiet as possible. Before he could duck back into the cupboard Vernon Dursley turned the corner of the stairs and glared at Harry.

"You. Why are you out of the cupboard you little freak," Vernon growled, attempting to keep his voice down. "And what are you doing with my food."

Vernon was a large man. Despite all of the extra weight and the crumbs, that even hours later, littered his mustache, he was still quite intimidating to the 10-year-old boy. Enough so for Harry to be frozen with stood still, not making a sound. Vernon grunted and shuffled further down the stairs and towards Harry.

"You're lucky that we haven't thrown you out of the house by now. We've taken care of you for all these years and this is how you repay us? Stealing! You are nothing but a freak!" Vernon's voice rose as he shoved Harry back under the stairs. "You don't deserve how well we treat you. Your parents were nothing but drunks and criminals. I always knew that you would turn out like them." Vernon hissed the last part, his spit flying over Harry.

Harry protested "But Uncle Vernon I-"

His Uncle's slammed his hand against the wall "Be quiet boy. You will do as I say." Vernon locked the door to Harry's cupboard.

"Stay." He growled before he lumbered back up the stairs. "You can come out when I say you can. No sooner."

Harry slumped back onto the small mattress the cupboard contained. He was terrified of his Uncle. The man was far from kind. He seemed to hate Harry with a passion. Luckily, in his rage, his Uncle Vernon hadn't remembered to take away the food Harry had stolen.

Harry ate part of it before saving the rest for later. After what had just happened, he doubted he was going to get any more to eat the next day, maybe even longer.

Harry picked up the pages he had just finished writing. He had been locked in the cupboard for hours and was to afraid to leave its confines. He just completed the 5th chapter of the story he was currently working on. His dark hair was tousled from running his hands through it so many times in thought and there were small ink smudges on his hands where he had touched the page before it was dry.

His story was about a young man who had been whisked away from his home by the fey people. The man in his story had danced with the fey, unaware that anyone who agreed to join the fey's dance couldn't stop,. He'd be stuck there with the fey, slowly losing his memories of everything. He was sucked into a trap that he couldn't escape.

The man's home life was nice. The villagers were all nice to him except for a select few. He went with the fey because he wanted an escape from the dull village part he was working on was about when he met the male fey who didn't participate in the dancing. They ate from a great apple tree and talked until the female fey came to fetch the boy.

Harry wished he could share his story with someone. He wanted to send his ideas out into the world, not keep them stuck inside 4 Privet Drive, a place that would never accept or appreciate his ideas. Harry knew that in a good story, every little detail matters. It all must connect to another idea that would reveal the true meaning behind the story. Those details often kept Harry up at night. What were the minute details in the story of his life? How did they all connect? Where was the climax? What exactly was the conflict?

Harry knew that the Dursleys weren't evil. There was some reason behind their treatment of him. Perhaps some wrathful or envious feeling remained for something Harry had done when he first came to them? Possible, but unlikely considering the exact details of how he was treated. Perhaps those same feelings towards someone else? Resentment towards his parents perhaps? After all, they were useless drunks as his Aunt put it.

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts when his Aunt Petunia banged on his door. Her action shook the cupboard walls, sending dust and spiders onto his mattress.

"Freak. Dudley wanted an apology for your behavior yesterday. Because of you he couldn't see the Lion feeding or eat dinner at his favorite Restaurant. We had that reservation for months and you ruined it. Now, come out and apologize to my little Dudders."

Harry tried to hide a groan as he exited the cupboard. His cousin had no trouble getting his way. All he had to do was pretend to cry and point a his grubby fingers at Harry. Dudley hadn't actually cried since he was 7 years old. However, that didn't stop him from throwing his fits so he could get what he wanted.

Harry walked towards Dudley, who was playing with his new race car while sitting on a chair in the kitchen. The chair looked like it was crying out in pain as it tried to keep up the weight of the obese boy. Harry slowly approached Dudley, hoping that being cautious would make it less likely for him to be socked in the nose.

Harry sighed. Just another Day with the Dursleys.


	3. Chapter 2

Harry rubbed his eyes. Once again, he had stayed up all night writing and editing the next chapter in his story. He felt like the story was still missing something. Harry had been working on it non-stop since Dudley's birthday since he had so much extra time on his hands while locked in the cupboard. Harry was starting to see the side effects of his late night writing.

He was often shaky and had a smaller attention span. He had far less energy (Dudley was a big part of him realizing that. He couldn't hide and now he couldn't run) The work his uncle assigned was getting harder and the tasks all took much longer to complete. Harry considered the fact that it might be because his birthday is in a week. His Uncle Vernon probably wanted to make the experience as horrid as he could.

His birthdays never were pleasant. There were some good years where his Aunt and Uncle completely ignored him, but the downside to that was that Dudley had more freedom in his weekly Harry hunting. Other years his Aunt and Uncle had paid extra attention to him, refusing to let him leave the house and insulting him at every turn. Harry wasn't really sure which one he preferred. Dudley was a menace.

Harry hunts were

Harry frowned as he flipped the bacon he was making for his Uncle and Aunt. Dudley had spent the night at a friend's house and wasn't supposed to return until noon. His Uncle had work today and would be leaving soon so that he could meet his boss at the front doors. Vernon had been talking about it for weeks. Uncle Vernon wanted to get in the man's good graces so he can get the promotion that he's been waiting for. (Harry had a feeling that something was going to go wrong. He had met Vernon's boss, he was quite unpredictable.)

Harry would be left alone at the house with Aunt Petunia. Petunia (surprisingly) didn't treat him as terribly as his Uncle. On some nights when Vernon denied Harry his dinner, Petunia would sneak him the leftover vegetables. (She always used the excuse of it not being normal for a boy his age to not have dinner. Harry would just smile softly. He had lost his mother, but she had lost her sister.) Harry was thankful for it no matter her reason.

His Uncle Vernon came down the stairs at 10 to 8:00. He was dressed in a nice suit and had a gleam of confidence in his eyes. Vernon adjusted his tie as a slight smirk graced his lips. Harry was quite glad that his Uncle seemed to be in good spirits, a happy Vernon is less likely to yell at Harry than an angry one. (Harry had learned this the hard way in past years. If his Uncle was angry, then Harry knew that he should disappear. Fast.)

His Uncle addressed him. "Boy, hurry with the bacon. I need to get there early. Once you're finished start cleaning up the house. If all goes well then we will have a celebration tonight." Vernon looked proud of himself, Harry wasn't sure if it was simply because of the expected promotion or if there was more to it. (Perhaps he finally though that Harry was doing something right.)

"And while you're at it, I'll have Petunia drop you off at the shops. We can't have you looking as you do when we have people over." Harry froze. The shops? As in, clothing? Harry shook his head at the thought. His uncle was sure to change his mind once he realized what he said. Harry had wasn't supposed to get his own clothes. He was only supposed to get Dudley's old clothing. Freaks aren't allowed new things.

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry replied. Hoping that if he was polite he would actually get a chance to get the promised clothes. He would enjoy being able to wear something that wasn't many sizes to big. Perhaps he could even get a new pair of glasses. His current pair weren't in the best shape (Dudley enjoyed breaking his cousin's glasses and watching Harry crawl around looking for them) and he was certain that he needed to return to the eye doctor, everything was quite blurry.

Harry finished with the bacon and quickly served it to his Uncle along with the coffee and toast that he had made earlier. As his Uncle attacked his food, Harry began with the cleaning. The sticky jam from the toast had spilled onto the counter, making Harry's job that much harder for his shaking hands. After he had cleaned out the pan and wiped down the counter, he turned to his Uncle, awaiting further instruction.

Harry thought about the mail. Perhaps he could get on his Uncle's good side by retrieving it without his asking. Harry walked towards the door to retrieve the mail but was then stopped by his uncle. "Never mind boy. I told them to hold my mail today. I'm supposed to get a package from Marge. She will be coming down next week and is sending her bags ahead of time."

Harry flinched at the thought. Marge was his Uncle Vernon's older sister. She bred bulldogs out in the country. Last time Marge had come to visit her dog, Ripper, chased Harry up a tree after he had stepped on his paw. Aunt Marge had refused to call ripper off until past midnight, much to the Dursley's delight. (Harry would like to see their reaction to being chased by a bull dog.)

Marge would always bring Dudley gifts. She had an abundance of money and was very open to spending it on her favorite nephew. Harry on the other hand would get the wonderful gift of her advice. Everything from "Oh Harry, why can't you be as good a boy as Dudley here?" To the ever so helpful slap to the shins. (Harry thought that she herself needed some life advice)

—

Vernon was wiping his mouth when Petunia came down the stairs, having been watching from over the railing. She had surveyed the scene before her, surprised that he wasn't screaming at Harry. Vernon was actually talking to the boy without spitting insults. She supposed that it was because of the promotion. It shed a more positive light on the situation for Petunia. Perhaps she could… No.

Petunia didn't agree with everything Vernon had decided about the boy's situation. Every child needed clothing that fitted and something to eat. The money supplied for them to take care of the boy was no small amount either. Vernon insisted that they put the money to good course, Vernon had a twisted version of 'good use'.

Dudley's 2nd birthday had been quite extravagant after they received the first Galleons. The golden coins were hard to trade off without questions of where they came from, but they had managed it. Vernon had decided to spend the second sum on his and Petunia's anniversary. Marge had watched Dudley and Harry. The freak, boy, had been far more quiet when they had returned. (Of course, Petunia and Vernon hadn't cared to check if Harry had been hurt by Marge's dog. He couldn't walk on that foot for a week)

Petunia looked at Harry. The boy was pale and his entire body was shaking. She supposed they could spare the money for a quick check up. Petunia denied the idea that she could care about the well being of her sister's son. It was just to avoid future problems with the boys health. It would be better to spend a couple dollars on the boy now rather than a larger sum later on.

Harry looked at Petunia and could almost see what was running through her head. He could use this. Harry knew how to push and manipulate his characters. Why couldn't he do the same to his Aunt? Just a little pushing and prodding here and there, shaping her character a bit more to his liking. Maybe, just maybe, it was his turn to change the story.

Harry turned to the cupboard and got out his typewriter, a smirk gracing his lips. Today would be a good day.

—

Thank you so much for checking out my story! Please share this with your friends and give me some feed back! Follow this story if you're looking for more. I should update at least once a week.


	4. Chapter 3

**This is a short chapter. I haven't had much time to write between preparing for my mom's surgery and school work. I hope you enjoy!**

His Aunt was crying. That was a sight that Harry didn't see everyday. Vernon had left for work and demanded that she clean up the house. He was having guests tonight and he would not deal with the disgusting filth that had been left in his house. Harry of course, understood that the comments were more aimed towards him, but his Aunt did not.

Vernon had slammed the door and Petunia had let her tears loose. What Harry had no knowledge of was the underlying threat in the sentence. Vernon and Petunia had gone out the previous night. It resulted in Vernon coming home along and Petunia returning around midnight a crying mess. She and Vernon's relationship had become rocky. One of the constants in her life that she had hung onto was slipping away.

She turned on Harry and hissed. "This is all your fault boy. I expect you to have this house cleaned by noon." She turned on her heal, putting on a mask of confidence. "What are you waiting for. Go on."

Harry had gone up to the attic on his Aunt's orders to clean it out. He had been a bit hesitant at first, the attic was filled with thick air and boxes stacked up to his eyes. (Not that impressive. Harry was quite short for his age) It was dark and Harry had already stubbed his toe more than one on the wooden boards his Uncle had stacked up many years ago.

He hated the attic.

Harry moved the smaller boxes and stacked them along the wall closest to the entrance. He paused a few times to look through the lighter ones. Why didn't his aunt want these anymore? Harry then moved the larger cardboard boxes to the farthest wall. His arms were shaking under the weight of the heavier boxes. While he was moving the boxes, Harry noticed a travel bag and a large wooden trunk pushed far into the corner. They were both covered in dust and scratches and the chest had a large coat of arms on the top.

Harry felt drawn towards the items, his heart calling out to them. There was something familiar about the sign on the trunk. The were 4 animals decorating it, one in each corner. Under the sign it said 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus' It was connected to something, he could feel it. Harry paused for a second, his aunt left it up here (for years judging by the condition) Did she not want anyone to find it? Did she not want him to find it?

Harry smirked. This was quite interesting. He needed a way to investigate. He inched towards the objects.

Suddenly, a wizz came from the bag and Harry paused, a look of fear crossing his pale face. His eyes were wide, what on earth was that? One hand curled around the other as his eyes darted back towards the attic door. Should he open the bag first? Or should he just leave both the bag and trunk alone? Harry shook his head, correcting himself. Of course he should open them. He had to.

Harry leaned forward and grabbed the bag. He opened it up and took a glance inside.

It had exploded. As soon has Harry had opened the bag, it exploded, sending a bright light into the room that nearly blinded him. The bag itself remained untouched, but the wood surrounding Harry looked as though it was brand new.

Harry reached down to touch the wood, one hand holding the bag and the other reaching out. He was shocked when his fingers brushed against it and found it the texture of new wood. Harry took a step forward. As he walked, the wood became new and old boxes slowly disappeared.

Harry exited the attic and walked down the stairs, fingers touching the railing, Every touch, every movement, it all changed. Slowly it seemed that the house aged backwards. Harry stepped off the stairs on the bottom floor.

Harry could see his Aunt's back, but she looked different. It was night out and the kitchen was dimly lit. He could hear the sound of the TV running and guessed that his Uncle was in the living room watching the news. Harry crept closer to his Aunt, he was about to tap her on the shoulder when he heard crying.

It seemed as though the sound was ringing through the house. His Aunt jumped at the sound and rushed towards the door (His Aunt looked worried. She had already put Dudley to sleep so it wasn't him. Who would have a baby out at 9:40?) Harry followed her to the door, confused as to why she had not noticed him. (Looking back Harry should have realized what was going on. The fresh paint on the wall and the lack of wrinkles on his Aunt's face were dead giveaways.)

Petunia threw open the front door. She was about to head out into the cold night when she found herself nearly avoiding stepping on the source of the crying. As she took in what she was looking at, she froze. Below her, sitting on the doorstep was a child. A baby no more than 1 year old. Her shrill voice rang out "Vernon!"

The Child was no pretty sight. It's forehead was swollen and puffy with a fresh cut on it's upper right side. There was also blood covering the young child's body. Petunia began to understand what had happened. She knew that the death eaters would stop at nothing. If the child hadn't been found..

Harry was suddenly jerked out of the image.

Preview for the next chapter:

"You think I don't know what they're capable of? You didn't just lose a mother that night in Godric's Hollow, you know. I lost a sister."

Harry flinched back at her harsh tone.


End file.
